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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27620723">Fissure</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixelfun20/pseuds/Pixelfun20'>Pixelfun20</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dadza does a Badza, Editor Wilbur Soot, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Manipulation, Mind Manipulation, Mystery, Mystery Villain, Near Death Experiences, Sickfic, Technoblade is a good bro, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, kind of, nov 16th spoilers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:13:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,635</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27620723</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixelfun20/pseuds/Pixelfun20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Planning took patience. It took a meticulously crafted persona and weeks in the making, watching the pieces fall perfectly in place to align into this one moment. Dream believed he was winning. Techno was getting the chaos he always wanted. Tommy and those who followed him watched in horror as everything they ever cared about burned around them.</p><p>And the one man that could save them was calling him “Wilbur”.</p><p>Time to call a checkmate. He’s won this game.</p><p>-OR-</p><p>Something has been lurking in the shadows of the SMP server. When Phil kills his eldest son at his own behest, he accidentally plays right into the designs of something much more sinister.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dave | Technoblade &amp; Darryl Noveschosch, Dave | Technoblade &amp; Wilbur Soot, Dave | Technoblade &amp; Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson, Jschlatt &amp; Karl Jacobs, Wilbur Soot &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>131</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>542</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Severance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>HUGE thanks to my friends on the mcyt writing server on Discord, who came up with around 60% of this AU, including the title and part of the summary. This has been in the works for around a month, and with the Revolution finished it was time to publish it. I hope you all enjoy!</p><p>For context, respawn exists.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Phil had never expected it to turn out like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembers, vividly, the day when Wilbur and Tommy, his eldest and youngest sons, went off together to explore the world on their own. It was their time; even though Tommy was 15, a little young to be leaving home, Wilbur was at his side, a young man in his early twenties who had left before and was more than capable at looking after his little brother. Phil had watched them go down the path from his house, and then they were gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d moved on to other projects after that, when his tears were dried and the house cleaned up. His hardcore worlds had been calling to him for close to two decades now, forsaken as they were no place for children, but now he returns. And it’s freeing, in its own way. Phil has missed the exhilaration of death, the adrenaline rushes of his close brushes that would separate him from the world forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Letters came from his sons. At first, Wilbur wrote the most, little envelopes arriving almost daily. Phil suspected it was his form of journaling, because they detailed everything that was going on, from current events to Wilbur’s inner thoughts and ramblings about them. Tommy wrote the least, and when he did it was stilted and short and Wilbur had so obviously made him do it that every one gets a chuckle out of him. Techno wrote once every two weeks, never failing, letters shorter and less emotional, but it’s Techno and Phil thought he could read between the lines well enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then five days came and went without a letter from Wilbur. Three days in, Techno goes two weeks without writing to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil was worried, and he paced and wondered if he should just say “screw it” and abandon his hardcore world to go after them. Wilbur </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> wrote him and Techno </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> missed writing him the second and fourth Sundays of the month.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, finally, two letters arrived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno’s was formatted normally, it’s usual page and a half in length. Wilbur’s, though, was a good six, much longer than the norm, writing frantic and scribbled and he’s sure that the wrinkled spots are tear stains. Both of them detail similar stories: how Wilbur had lost the election for his nation and had been kicked out with Tommy, and now they were on the run. Techno had joined them, arriving a few days before missing his letter, which is why it’s late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil cannot help the long sigh of relief that slipped past his lips when he read that. His sons were alive, and even better, they were together. He was sure that even if they couldn’t retake L’Manberg, they’d have each other, and everything would be okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s letters stopped coming again two weeks later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They just stop. Abruptly. Like with the Election, Phil was left in the dark as what happened to his oldest son. Techno’s letter came in on time a few days later, all normal, and Phil asked him why Wilbur wasn’t writing, but it’d be another two weeks until Techno replied, so all he could do was wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A week later, Tommy wrote to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil was surprised. Tommy hadn’t written to him directly in months; usually he just told Wilbur what to say, and the older brother just put it in his own letter for Phil to read. Even when Wilbur did force him to write, Tommy’s notes were so obviously forced and rarely held anything of value.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was not. Tommy wrote how Wilbur was going off the walls, stressing himself out. He was forgetting things, growing more violent, and had it in his head that he was the bad guy in this situation. Tommy said he didn’t think he was even writing to Phil anymore, since Tommy himself hadn’t sent any messages through him. He wrote about a Festival and Techno killing one of his friends, and in all honesty, now Phil was really worried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he still stayed back, hoping for that letter from Techno to provide his perspective. It arrived at its usual time, short as usual. Wilbur was joining Techno’s side in the conflict, that of anarchy, and Tommy was upset about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil felt uneasy about that, but he let it slide. Certainly he was missing something here, and he’d have to wait to find that missing something until Wilbur finally wrote to him. He passed his time in the world building and grinding, getting irregular and more worrying updates from Tommy and the cool, clipped words of Techno.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, a letter in Wilbur’s handwriting arrived, the first Phil’s heard from his son in almost two months. It was short, shorter than even the quick notes Wilbur had jotted to him during the L’Manburg war.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It just asked him to come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil did. Even during L’Manberg’s darkest hours, Wilbur had never asked him to do anything more than listen. He dropped everything and got there in three hours flat, hacking his way into the server because he wouldn’t wait for someone as unpredictable as Dream to whitelist him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His feet hit the floor, and Phil found himself in a stone corridor. He looked up slowly, knowing Wilbur would be near and wondering just what he had done to put himself in a situation where he was calling on his father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did not expect to see Wilbur sitting in a small stone room, covered in scribbles from the floor to the ceiling, and muttering to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur straightened, then turned around, an expression of surprise on his face. “Uh-Phil! Hey, Phil! I… didn’t expect you to get here so quickly. What’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are we, Wil?” Phil asked, because he sees the button Wilbur is trying in vain to cover up and knows from Tommy exactly the weight behind it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, in L’Manberg! Haven’t you heard? We won! Tubbo’s president now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And this is part of L’Manberg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay...I will admit…” Wilbur said as Phil stepped forward, fidgeting as he figured the jig was up. “Do you know what this button is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh. I do.” He wondered where Techno and Tommy were right now. Why was Wilbur here all alone, especially if he was as unstable as he clearly is right now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you heard the, the song, on the walls, before? Phil, have you, have you heard the song?” Wilbur asked, smiling. It was a smile that sent chills down Phil’s spine, because this wasn’t the same smile Wilbur had given him at their last meeting. “I was just thinking, I made this big point, and it was poignant, it’s um—there was a special place, but it’s—it’s not there anymore, you know? It’s not—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is there.” Phil interrupted him, trying so desperately to make him understand. “You, you just...you just won it back, Will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Were Tommy and Techno in L’Manberg? Were the rest of their friends? Why was Wilbur so willing to risk their lives?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why hadn’t Phil just listened to his first gut instinct and come to the server that first time Wilbur had gone without writing him? Maybe then he could have saved him, because this Wilbur didn’t have the same smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was laughing maniacally now, running his hands through his hair. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Phil</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’m—I’m always </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>close to pressing this button, Phil! I have been—I have been here like seven or eight times, I’ve been here...seven or eight times.” He takes a long breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A distant sound started echoing through the stone. It took Phil a few seconds to realize that they were fireworks, going off in the distance. He remembered, suddenly, how two letters ago Techno had mentioned a firework-loaded rocket he’d hand-made, and how it was his pride and joy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re fighting- They’re fighting.” Wilbur repeated himself, shoving his hands in his pockets, as if doing so would stop him from moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...and you want to just blow it all up,” Phil replied, trying to keep his voice steady. He doesn’t know what to say here. How can he say the right thing, when he hardly knows the man standing in front of him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dare I do? I think—I—” Wilbur twirled on his feet a little, eyes going everywhere but Phil’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fought so hard to get this land back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—so hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even know if the button works anymore, Phil, I don’t even know if the button works, I could. I could…press it, and it might...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really want to take that risk?” Was there any getting through to him? Phil wanted to hope, he wanted to hope </span>
  <em>
    <span>so badly</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but his heart was breaking and Techno and Tommy were out there and Phil had no clue what was happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Phil. There was a saying, Phil. Uh...by a traitor.” Phil nodded, biting the inside of his lower lip. There seemed to have been a lot of traitors, recently. “Uhm, once, part of L’Manburg. A traitor, I don’t know if you’ve heard of him—Eret?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. The first one. Phil remembered that letter very clearly, how Wilbur had detailed to him how much he’d relied on the man in the war to independence, as a friend and ally, as the fellow adult in a nation of youths eager to make their mark on the world. Phil remembered how he’d felt his eldest son’s pain at it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had been the one and only time he’d offered to come to the server and help out. Wilbur had refused, saying that it wasn’t his fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe if he had come then, helped them win the war and rule L’Manberg with the guidance of a father figure, things would have turned out differently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He had a saying, Phil.” Wilbur was still speaking, and it drew Phil out of his regrets. “It was never meant to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Wilbur </span>
  <em>
    <span>smiled</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that damned not-smile that didn’t belong on his face, and pressed the button.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God.” There was a hissing sound, not so far away. “You didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His son. His precious little boy with the fluffy curly brown hair and cheerful grin, who’d barely reached his knees and played a toy guitar was smashing his fist into the button and mock-saluting him as the wall blew out and nearly threw both of them to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil’s ears were ringing, and after a few moments of crashes and bangs, he forced himself to balance again. His hat had been thrown off in the blast, but there was no time to find it, so he just brushed his hair out of his eyes as he raced to the crater that had torn a hole through the mountain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A land of ruin stood before him. What was once a cave was now an opening in the side of a cliff, the sounds of distant fighting suddenly all the more clear. He could see people, all in enchanted netherite armor, picking themselves up from the rubble. He squinted, trying to find Tommy and Techno in the dust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was moving beside him, and the actions drew Phil’s attention back to his eldest son. Wilbur was looking out over the ruins, and he was still smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil didn’t know what to feel. Despair, shock, and anger curled within his core. How could his own son, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>musician</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a man of </span>
  <em>
    <span>words</span>
  </em>
  <span>, have done this? He really was an entirely different person now. Phil never should have let him leave in the first place, should have just held him tight and never let go. He’d been too confident in Wilbur’s abilities—just because Wilbur had gone out on his own before, and come back, did not mean he had been the best choice as a caretaker for Tommy when he’d left again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there was the tell-tale </span>
  <em>
    <span>shing </span>
  </em>
  <span>of a blade being drawn. Phil watched, numb and yet bursting with emotion, as Wilbur held out a glittering diamond sword. He took it by the blade, tip pointed towards his abdomen and the handle directed in Phil’s direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My L’Manburg, Phil!” He laughed a crazed laugh, pupils blown wide. “My unfinished symphony, forever unfinished!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god.” What can he say? Is this why Wilbur had wanted him here? To watch his son finally unravel, past the point of no return?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur took a few steps forward.  “Kill me Phil, Phil, kill me.” What? Phil blinked in shock and horror. “Phil, stab me with the sword, murder me now—” Why would Wilbur ask him to do this? Phil’s hands were shaking, and he stepped back even as Wilbur stepped forward, that manic glint still in his eyes. “Kill me Phil, murder me, now! Do it! They all want you to!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil spared a glance across the crater. The netherite-clad people had coalesced, and he searched them desperately for any sign of his younger sons. One person stood out from the rest, standing on an outcropping of rock. Tommy? It was too far away to tell for sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Phil, kill me—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t take it. “No! You’re my </span>
  <em>
    <span>son</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” He burst out, backing up again. His back hit the wall. Nowhere else to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Phil, your son is dead.” Phil paused at that, looking him in the eyes. Wilbur was looking at him with a perfectly still face, nothing but truth in his gaze. “Look at me, and say that I still care about all the work that went into this land.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil’s mouth worked, but nothing came out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They all want you to. What am I to you, really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wishes he’d listened to his gut, had come before his son had transformed into this </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’d come to recognize. But it was too late now. He’d let Wilbur leave, had trusted him when he said he didn’t need help in the war, had only listened when the election had gone awry, had stood by the wayside when Tommy had chronicled the visible portion of Wilbur’s descent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was no longer the son who’d left home so long ago, the son who’d written to him so diligently day in and day out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil wondered when his son had died.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a strength he didn’t know he had, fueled by grief, regret, and so much anger, he grasped the diamond blade and thrust it into Wilbur’s stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A long moment stretched between them. Wilbur’s expression took on a hint of surprise, before an odd expression took over his face as he looked down at the sword impaling him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a shaking grip, Phil yanked the sword out of his body and tossed it to the side. He stood there for a moment, breathing, as Wilbur fell to his knees, hands going to the wound. Phil stepped forwards, hand reaching out towards him, when he stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s shirt was staining black. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What? Slowly, Phil turned to look at the sword that he’d thrown away without as much as a glance. It, too, was coated in a strange black gunk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Where was the blood?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur laughed, a gurgling thing, as he fell back, hair sprawling around him, almost like a halo. The blackness that had taken the place of his blood was bubbling up through his shirt and coating his hands as his chest moved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Finally!" He laughs, and it comes out more as a gurgle. "You were always the one I was the most worried about convincing, Mr. Philza Minecraft. What a wonderful crescendo, so perfectly mastered."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil, suddenly, felt cold. So cold. From outside, there was a series of shouting, then the lower, world-echoing bangs that heralded the coming of the Wither. He can’t bring himself to pay attention to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This thing was not his son, but not in the metaphorical way Phil had thought. This was literal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Much more literal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you?” He shouted, desperate. He fell to his knees and yanked the thing up by its shirt collar. He did not dwell on what his past action meant in this new context. He will not bear it, not now. “Where is my son?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you,” the thing gurgled. It coughed, the blackness seeping through its teeth and dribbling down his chin. “He died a long time ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil didn’t say anything, hands shaking so much that he just dropped the thing, making it cry out as its head struck the floor. Then it started laughing again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, how it feels!” It cried. “To finally be </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then it's voice faded away, it’s final breath a laugh. And its body dissolved into dust, floating off into that void that lay between death and rebirth, leaving Phil alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What had just </span>
  <em>
    <span>happened</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sometimes the bad guy wins.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Hanging by a Thread</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for all your support! I always love interacting with you guys in the comments, and it was great to see how you all liked the last chapter. Let me know what you think of this one. :)</p><p>As a thank you for your support, have an entire chapter of Technoblade internally monologuing.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>All in all, things had turned out pretty well on Techno’s end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d gone in knowing that Tommy and his friends were going to betray him. It was written on the walls, most everyone had just been too blind to see it. Honestly it was pretty insulting. He’d been clear from the start that a government was nothing but corrupting and that he would not stand for another replacing Manburg's dictatorship, but no one had listened. Did they really value him that little, to think he would just stand aside as they perpetuated the cycle of violence?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur had understood. He had lost himself, especially at the end of it all, becoming someone Techno could hardly recognize, but he had always understood, and never asked for Techno to do anything that went against his core beliefs, and it was something he could appreciate. Tommy had been the exact opposite. In his eyes, Techno had only been a tool, a means to an end. Once Techno had stood up for what he believed in and actually did what he’d claimed for so long that he’d do, it was all “traitor Techno!” this and “I’m not the hero!” that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was frustrating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil… Techno didn’t know how Phil felt about things. He’d only just arrived, and he hadn’t even spoken to his father yet. He knew he’d confronted Wilbur in the button room, because he’d seen him kill Wilbur (quite willingly on Wilbur’s end, </span>
  <em>
    <span>but he would not think about that</span>
  </em>
  <span>) right after. He’d stayed out for most of the wither fight, but he’d scavenged enough supplies that he’d helped kill the last one. After that he’d run off with Tommy and his gang, and Techno hadn’t seen him since.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno was brought back to himself as the adrenaline returned to his veins as he dropped through the sky. He landed in the river near Pogtopia with a gentle splash, then raised his trident and took off into the air again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, he’d done his job well enough. L’Manberg was nothing but a smoking crater now, and wasn’t that all that mattered?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next up… a little bit of rest. Techno had enough sense to know that the day’s events had absolutely exhausted him. Not only that, but he’d hardly been sleeping ever since he got here, too busy grinding. First it was to set up Pogtopia, and then to gear himself up, and then the final push to fill his base with everything a rebellion might need.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d done that on his own, you know. And of course everyone had gone against his ideals and established a government while wearing his gear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly. And Tommy had been surprised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyways. Where was he? Techno landed with a hard thud on the forested ground, his boots absorbing most of the impact. He’d have to walk for a bit before he reached another pool of water to use his trident in. Oh, yes, tired. The thought had him stifling a yawn. He was going to go back to his base, put away his armor and sleep for the next </span>
  <em>
    <span>month</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Or until Tommy tried to establish another government.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The latter was probably going to happen first, but let a pig dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something was off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno stilled, and looked around him. The forest looked the same it always had. Some birds chirped in the trees, and the sun cast an orange-yellow glow across the land as it began its descent to the horizon. Silently, he raised his trident and equipped his shield. He’d seen something, and just registered it enough for his unconscious mind to notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked closer, gaze sweeping across the forest, starting in the canopy and moving down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There. A bit of white in a clump of bushes at the base of a tree. He looked closer at it, and more spots of cloth appeared through the leaves as they brushed through the wind. Who was hiding in a bush in a place like this? They were still a ways away from his base and Pogtopia, and L’Manberg was a good few miles away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever. He was tired, but he could handle some ill-conceived attacker or thief, thinking he would be weak after a day like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno stalked forwards, trident raised and ready to attack. Each footstep fell without sound, and he reached forwards, grabbing at one of the bush’s thicker stalks and yanking it to the side and thrusting the trident down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he registered the person who he was attacking, and he froze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur?” he said quietly, dropping the trident. It hit the ground with a quiet </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he paid it no heed as he took in the prone form of his younger brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was curled up at the base of the tree, in a small space between the bush and the tree. It looked almost like he had fallen there, with the bark above his head all scratched up, and then just curled up and fallen asleep. His knees were brought up to his chest, almost to where he was resting his cheeks on them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He wasn’t wearing his usual brown overcoat and black slacks, but a ratty white long-sleeved shirt that was so worn calling it ratty was overstating it a bit. He had a loose pair of jeans, also ripped but not as ratty, and some very crude leather boots, hardly held together with twine, adorned his feet. He wasn’t wearing either of the black or red beanies he so adored, either, and his hair was a good few inches longer than it had been yesterday, tangled and matted against his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not only that, but he looked like he hadn’t bathed in </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His hair was one thing, but his skin and clothes were caked in dirt and other gunk. Cuts covered his body, along with dried blood. Techno could smell him from here, and it was honestly a miracle he hadn’t earlier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this didn’t make any sense. Techno had seen Wilbur only five hours ago, when Phil had killed him. Wilbur would have taken an hour or two to respawn, and then he would have been pretty fine from a quick death like that, if only with some phantom pains that would last a week or so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would not look like he hadn’t eaten, washed, or slept in weeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur?” Techno asked again. Wilbur didn’t even stir, well and truly out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How long had he been here?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, Techno could ask questions later, because Wilbur looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>awful</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Techno was really worried about him surviving the day, much less answering how he’d gotten himself in this situation, and death from the elements was much worse than a quick sword to the gut. Swiftly he picked up his trident, then put it and his shield back in his inventory. He grabbed his axe to replace them and hacked away at the bush branches, clearing a decently-sized hole, then put it away. Slowly, he tucked his arms underneath his prone form, and when Wilbur again failed to react, he picked him up and held him close to his chest, bridal style. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d lost weight. Techno was </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> missing something here, because unless you consider some </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> unpleasant methods that probably didn’t happen considering Wilbur was still in one piece, you didn’t lose noticeable amounts of weight in less than a day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just… he felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>small</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno growled, almost unconsciously, to himself as he tucked his brother in even closer. Wilbur’s skin was frighteningly cold against his unarmored arms, likely from the chilly fall day, but he wasn’t shivering, which worried him. His first thought was hypothermia, but it was far too warm for that. Maybe he was out enough that his body didn’t shiver? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook himself, increasing his pace from a brisk walk to an almost-run, clutching this strange shadow of his brother. He knew from experience that in situations like these actions were much more important than words. Except unlike in battle, there was nothing Techno could do but hold Wilbur to his chest and hurry home as fast as he could without aggravating him further. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It just didn’t make any </span>
  <em>
    <span>sense.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wilbur’s respawn wasn’t even anywhere near here; Techno had </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen </span>
  </em>
  <span>him sleep the night away in Pogtopia (had that night been less than 24 hours ago? It feels like days). If Wilbur had respawned there, and somehow gotten injured to this level, he still had no reason to be in the forests outside of Techno’s base. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unless there had been a respawn glitch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno almost dismissed the idea outright, but it did make sense. The odd placement, the drain on the body. He’d never seen a glitched respawn before, there were far too rare, but he’d heard of them before. They were often one-off things, a result of the world erring, and you just had to nurse the afflicted player back to health.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The forest finally ended, the trees transforming into the gentle rolling hills of the land near his base. Techno adjusted Wilbur’s limp body against his chest as he made his way down the hill and towards the riverbed. Getting Wilbur into the base would be tricky, but once he was down there he would be safe, away from prying eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought of Tommy, looking at him with such </span>
  <em>
    <span>certainty</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he was in the right, and nodded to himself, firm in his decision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would not trust Tommy and his allies with Wilbur right now. His condition was much too precarious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Techno reached the riverbank. He set Wilbur down on a particularly soft patch of grass, then jumped into the water, swimming down to the riverbed and digging up the particular patch of dirt he knew covered his base. Once it was open, he dove down, falling into the shallow pool of water there to break his fall. Once in the top part of his base, he immediately grabbed some spare dirt and a magma block, moving back to the entrance and blocking off one side. Then he broke the sign holding the water up, and it cascaded down into the pool with a splash. He broke the stone and placed the magma block down. It took a moment, but soon there was a smooth trail of bubbles leading up to the surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A temporary thing, but it’d work. Techno would have to make a land-based entrance later. Completely hidden, of course. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Techno stepped into the half-bubbles, half water. It was an odd in-between state, the sensation of being underwater but not getting wet or or needing to hold your breath. Perfect for transporting unconscious cargo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno popped out of the water with his trident in hand, shooting up into the air and hitting the ground with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunk</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Wilbur hadn’t moved from the position Techno had left him in, which was both worrying and relieving at the same time. Sheathing his trident, he bent down and picked Wilbur back up from his spot on the grass, and waded back into the water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was tricky, but the magma block’s warm, oxygenated water made things a lot easier. They were sucked down easily, but Techno was quick to get them out of the water and into the top level of his base. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur twitched. Techno froze mid-pulling the lever to the hidden part of his base as he moved. But Wilbur did nothing, said nothing other than letting out a quiet almost-hum as he pressed himself further into Techno’s chest, and then he was under again, stilling as his breath evened out once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he was sure Wilbur was well and truly out once more, Techno reached out and pulled the lever, dropping down the blackstone-encased lower layer of his base. It was still a bit of a mess, spare gear and supplies scattered around from when Tommy had his friends had gone through everything, but it was safe and easy to defend, so it’d work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seven hours ago Wilbur had been down here with him, watching Pogtopia take their supplies. Techno remembered how he’d refused a set of netherite armor, claiming he didn’t like it, and left only with some arrows for his bow. His younger brother could be so odd, and it was then that Techno had resolved to watch over his brother and make sure he didn’t get himself hurt or killed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced down at Wilbur’s face, streaked with dirt turned into mud from the water, and felt a twisting in his gut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno shook himself and pushed that feeling down. He turned left, into the personal side of his base that had been mostly left alone. There was a single twin bed, a small kitchenette, and a fireplace for when the base grew cold at night. Swiftly he kicked the blankets off the bed and set Wilbur down, then grabbed some logs and threw them in the fireplace, firing a fire-enchanted arrow at it and watching as the hearth crackled to life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay. Wilbur was in the base now, and he was safe. What to do next?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regen potions. Right, he’d brewed a ton of those. The Pogtopians were bound to have left one or two behind, right? He turned around and ran back to the large row of chests, hurrying to open the one he needed and peered inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay… three fire resistance, two strength pots, nine night vision, and seven invisibility. Techno blinked, then looked closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Who had taken his three potions of water breathing?? They were only there to look good!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cursed under his breath. No regen, no healing, no freaking </span>
  <em>
    <span>water breathing</span>
  </em>
  <span> why would they even </span>
  <em>
    <span>take</span>
  </em>
  <span> that? He’d have to settle for strength. Techno grabbed the two bottles and closed the chest, paused, then moved and grabbed some of the mushroom stew, and then a towel and one of his spare shirts and trousers. Wilbur wouldn’t fit in anything in his size—he was two inches taller than him and built more like a twig compared to Techno’s more stocky frame—but it was better than any excuse for clothing he had right now. Then he grabbed a sponge from one of his more hidden chests, and was off again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The water bucket he always carried in his inventory was hung over the fire to warm, and Techno knelt down next to the prone form of his brother, taking the potion of strength and reaching to pour it down Wilbur’s lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His bare skin is so cold it makes him flinch back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, Wilbur had felt cold earlier, but now that he was taking the time to actually pay attention to it, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>inhumanely</span>
  </em>
  <span> cold. Techno would have mistaken him for a corpse if not for the shallow breathing and occasional twitch of the eyelids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ok. Slight change of plans. Techno hurried to administer the potion of strength (seconds in, Wilbur’s breathing was deepening. Techno relaxed, if only a little), then turned his attention to Wilbur’s sorry excuse for a shirt. He grabbed at the fabric, stiff from sweat and dirt, and used his axe to gently cut away at it, tossing it away on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s bare chest was a little cleaner than the uncovered parts of his body, enough that Techno could make out several small cuts and larger bruises littering his abdomen, and count every one of his ribs, standing out starkly against his skin. He swore a bit to himself, standing up and shucking off his armor and throwing it to the side (it was dirty and covered in soot and the occasional bloodstain, and much too hot with how warm the fire is making the room), moving back and grabbing the sponge, ripping off a smaller section of it and dipping it into the warming water sitting above the fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Techno set out to start cleaning Wilbur. Gently, ever so gently, he knelt down by his brother and started dabbing at his face. The dirt is tricky to get off, especially with it practically being plastered on his face, but Techno is nothing if not patient and determined, and he keeps at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s face looks a little better once he’s done, but it’s done nothing to help alleviate Techno’s unease. His cheeks are sunken and some of the cuts on his face start bleeding again when he runs the sponge over them, cherry-red spots of blood blooming and having to be wiped away again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t help that as he turns his attention downwards, he notices the state of Wilbur’s hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re dirty, dirtier than the rest of his body, but through the gunk, Techno looks closer, and the prognosis doesn’t look good. Scrubbed raw is an understatement; Wilbur’s fingers look almost skinned, and they’re littered with wooden splinters, big and small. The palms and forearms boast long, vertical cuts, and though shallow they would probably scar. And there were a few tiny burns here and there, too, completing the picture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Could a glitched respawn cause such specific damage? Techno didn’t know, but what he did know was that if a player had done this to his younger brother, they were going to regret the day they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>born</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But for now, he ignores the simmering anger, pushing it away to be addressed later. Tonight, he will attend to Wilbur’s wounds, and wait for him to wake up. It’s the least he can do.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A brother's love is truly something special.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Bleed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Tommy, I need to talk to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know,” Phil’s youngest says, eyes flickering to the side, towards Tubbo. The newest president of L’Manburg seems to share the same feeling, looking a bit uncomfortable as he finally starts to take off his netherite armor. They’re standing in a small campsite, just off from where the crater that used to be L’Manburg is. With nowhere else to stay, they’d ended up finding a relatively flat spot of land and making temporary huts and tents to live in until they could start rebuilding their land.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything had happened so fast since Phil had joined the server. Getting tricked by the not-Wilbur and killing him, then the Wither fight and subsequently running away to find Tommy as Techno and a bunch of his allies (Dream, his friends, and the “Badlands,” Fundy had explained to him) continued to decimate the land. After that Phil had run out with Niki to find some supplies, and then they’d returned to the crater once they were sure Techno and his allies had left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In all that time, Phil hadn’t told anyone about what had happened with the not-Wilbur. Not that he didn’t want to; the scene kept on replaying in his mind, over and over. “You were always the one I was the most worried about convincing,” the thing had said. Convinced him of what? Believing It was Wilbur? Convincing him to kill It? Phil had considered that last idea, but from what he had gathered, Wilbur hadn’t exactly gone around asking people to kill him, and Its words had implied that it had convinced others of the same thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Either way, it probably wasn’t the best idea to ask Quackity why Wilbur had bled black during the Wither fight, or tell Niki that she’d been duped for at least a decent time when she was already struggling with the loss of her home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, though, with the sun casting orange streaks across the sky, Phil finally thought it time he started spreading the news and trying to figure out just what had happened to his eldest son.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the person he needed to tell first was Tommy, who’d used to look up to Wilbur so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, I need to speak to you </span>
  <em>
    <span>in private</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he added, putting some force into his words but trying not to come off as angry. He needed to talk about this. He needed to know when things had gone so wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy turned towards him, and for a moment Phil was taken aback by how old he looked. Tommy was eighteen, now, just barely an adult, and finally starting to grow into the height he’d gained right before leaving home at fifteen. But past that, he looked so much older. His child had experienced many betrayals and wars here, and had grown up much faster than Phil would have liked, helping lead a nation and then a rebellion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, Phil wished he had come when Wilbur—the real Wilbur—had written to him about the first war for independence, because Tommy shouldn’t have shadows in his eyes at eighteen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In a minute,” Tommy said, leaning over the four wooden planks that were holding up a recently-made map of the world. Tubbo, though young, would make a good president, Phil thought, if he was already thinking of the future. “We’re working.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, please. It’s serious.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy gave that annoyed scowl that he’d had ever since he was a kid, about to dismiss him again, when Tubbo put a gentle hand over his, sending him a look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s right,” the young president said. “Tommy, you’re going to have to face what happened sooner or later.” Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but Tubbo pushed on with that stern look of his. “Tommy, talk to your father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil shot Tubbo a grateful look as Tommy let out a long sigh that was almost a groan, moving away from his friend. He walked towards Phil, brushing past him and leaving his father to follow as he led him away. They left camp behind, picking their way around the crater until Phil was fairly certain they were out of earshot from anyone nearby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy stopped around a cluster of boulders that had been thrown up in the initial blast, plopping down on one of the smaller ones and sending Phil a low look. Phil, meanwhile, sat down a foot or two away from him, trying to figure out how he was supposed to broach this kind of subject. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get it, okay?” Tommy announced when Phil took too long to speak. “Wilbur had lost his way. He wasn’t in his right state of mind so I shouldn’t hold his actions against him. He’s my brother so I ought to forgive him for blowing up L’Manburg.” His words grew more spiteful, more angry, and the way he spoke broke Phil’s heart. “Well, guess what Dad? I spent one and a half </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span> fighting for this place and three months in exile trying to get it back. What right did Wilbur have to take that away from me?! I’m mad at him and I have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>right </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be mad at him! It’s a good thing he hasn’t shown back up here because I might just kill him myself!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A short silence stretched between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you really mean that?” Phil asked, looking over at his youngest son. Tommy didn’t look at him, keeping his gaze fixed on a particular pebble on the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he said, voice firm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil sighed, long and hard, and put his head in his hands. He couldn’t fault Tommy for being fooled, for his hatred towards that </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> being construed to be hate for his own brother. Not when Phil had been a victim too, had been tricked into killing his own son.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m being honest with how I feel, Dad,” Tommy continued. “I hope Wilbur doesn’t ever come back here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you see happen, when I killed Wilbur?” Phil asked, pressing his hands further into his face to stop them from shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” Tommy was caught off guard with that, if the tone of his voice was anything to go by. “I saw Wilbur hold out the sword. I think he was asking you to kill him—didn’t want to face all of us after doing something like that, is what I think. You killed him, he despawned, and then the Wither fight started.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you didn’t see it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil drew hands away from his face, letting them shake. He’d washed them in the river, earlier, but he could still see the black stains on his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I stabbed him, Wilbur didn’t bleed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked over at Tommy, who’d taken on a confused expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t bleed,” Phil continued. “I stabbed him, and instead of blood this strange black stuff came out of his chest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The confusion was swiftly turning to horror. “Dad, I think you’re going a bit senile. Are you sure you’re alright? I know you didn’t want to kill Wilbur, you must have been seeing things—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, that black stuff stayed on my hands for </span>
  <em>
    <span>hours </span>
  </em>
  <span>after I killed him!” Phil burst. He pulled back his back overcoat, showing off a black stain on his right pant leg. “And this has been here ever since! I would </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> if I’d hallucinated it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy stared at him. “What are you getting at, Dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil shook his head as he took a few breaths to calm himself, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair. “Tommy, whatever that thing was, it wasn’t your brother. I don’t think Wilbur’s been here for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. You’re lying.” Tommy stood up, that anger in how voice now directed at his father. “You’ve gone mad. Dad, Wilbur may have gone crazy but he’s always </span>
  <em>
    <span>been</span>
  </em>
  <span> here. Hell, he was teasing me for calling him </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wilby</span>
  </em>
  <span> this morning!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The thing said that I had been the one he was most worried about convincing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! Stop it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That implies that It had already convinced you, Tommy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shut up!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil closed his mouth, watching as Tommy’s chest heaved for breath. His hands went to his head, pulling at his hair as he fell to his knees. His shoulders shook, and a sob burst out of his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, I’m so sorry,” Phil said quietly, rising from his seat and moving to sit in front of his son. “It convinced me, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy just cried harder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He looked… so confused, when I asked him why he wasn’t writing to you anymore!” He sobbed. Phil moved closer, drawing Tommy into his chest. “Dammit, I thought he was just tired. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t know</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wilbur wrote to you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were there a lot of instances like this?” Phil asked quietly. “Moments where Wilbur seemed to forget things?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a pause as Tommy thought, and then he nodded into Phil’s shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes. I thought he was just tired, or stressed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did he get more violent towards you? Or anyone else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another pause. “No. But he never really stopped anything. Got me and Techno to fight in a pit once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil’s blood ran cold, but he forced himself to brush past that tidbit for now. “Did he ever hurt you? In any way?” Tommy had been living nearly alone with this thing for </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks</span>
  </em>
  <span>, at least. The thought sent shivers down his spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy didn’t respond for a minute or two. He’d settled down a bit, but he leaned further into Phil embrace, letting his father hold him like he was a little kid again. Phil leaned down and ran his fingers through his son’s hair, letting him think. Phil could hardly imagine what was going through Tommy’s head right now, how the pieces might be fitting together to form a complete picture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad, where’s Wilbur?” Tommy asked quietly. “The real Wilbur.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Phil confessed, working past the squeezing of his heart. “The thing said he had died a while ago, but I’m not inclined to believe him. It could have been a parasite, or a shapeshifter, which gives us different options to where he is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shook his head. “Besides today, Wilbur hasn’t died since the Election, and I was there when it happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet another silence stretched between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to tell Tubbo,” Tommy announced, but he gave no inclination of a desire to move. “And find Wilbur.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Phil didn’t move either, just holding Tommy close and feeling so, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> grateful that this boy, at least, was safe and in his arms.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Night was falling by the time Phil and Tommy made their way back to camp. The sun had dipped below the horizon, finally, the lights now coming from the stars, a few lamps here and there, and some fires in L’Manburg’s ruins that hadn’t yet gone out. Tommy was quiet, trailing behind Phil. He was still processing what Phil had revealed, that all of his anger at Wilbur had been the result of manipulation and lies, and Phil let him stew on it. He was still trying to understand everything himself, and Tommy needed to try and sort things out in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tents were a little better put together when Phil arrived. Tubbo was still at the makeshift table they’d left him at, but now Fundy was at his side, pointing at something on the map. Hearing them approach, the two look up, and Tubbo’s expression takes on a tinge of alarm as he sees Tommy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did… did everything go alright?” He asks, moving away from the table. Phil can hear Tommy shift behind him, and he forces himself to hide a wince.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is everyone?” Phil asked. “We need to announce something to all of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, Niki and Eret are getting dinner ready,” Fundy said, worried. “Quackity’s in his tent. I’ll go find him.” He hurries off after that, and Tubbo moves to his friend, tentatively holding his arms out. Tommy shakes his head and Tubbo lowers them with a sad, understanding smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They waited a few minutes for Fundy to get them. Eret and Niki emerged from the one wooden structure smelling of dough (Eret had white flour caking his hands). Quackity stumbled out of his tent looking half asleep, arm in a sling from when he’d broken it in L’Manberg’s initial blast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Phil?” Niki asked, leaning on the table. “What do you want to tell us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shifted, sniffling a bit and looking away. Phil took in a deep breath, willing himself to have the strength to face these people and tell them the truth. Somehow, it was harder than facing his son.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid,” he began, looking down at the map. Tubbo had been drawing plans for the new L’Manberg over it. “That we all have been manipulated into doing something terrible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Confused looks met his announcement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Eret asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil took a deep breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur… well, he hasn’t been here, uh, for a long time,” he stammered. He knew how to talk to Tommy, but these people were virtually strangers, and it’s difficult to determine the best way to break the news to them. “You all have been dealing with an imposter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence. Phil met the eyes of each of the four people sitting around the table, before he continued, describing his final meeting with Wilbur. He spoke of how convincing Wilbur had been until Phil had killed him and he willingly gave up on pretending. He described the black, blood-like substance that had seeped out of his abdomen in as much detail as he could, the thing’s final words declaring his goal being complete. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Niki looked like she was about to cry once he was done, eyes shining and a hand over her mouth. Eret was pale and Quackity was staring at the table, mind working as Phil watched him put together the pieces. Tubbo had attached himself to Tommy’s side, and he caught the edges of a quick, whispered conversation (“It makes sense, man.” “Why didn’t we notice?”) before he turned his attention away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Eret was the first one to speak. He turned his head towards Phil, sunglasses glinting in the starlight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why what?” Phil replied. Eret’s lips curved downwards as he clasped his hands together, resting his chin on them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why replace Wilbur in the first place? What does this thing have to gain by blowing up L’Manberg? I mean, we still have control of it, and we’re going to rebuild it. Assuming it doesn’t have a personal vendetta against the place like Dream does, what would he get out of blowing it up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a good point,” Quackity agreed. “Alongside that, why ask you to kill it? If it’s so good at impersonating Wilbur, why not just slip off later?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Death would give him an alibi for a few hours,” Tubbo piped in. “But Eret is right. What would some imposter want to do with L’Manberg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s all well and good!” Niki burst, slamming her hands on the table. Her voice was full of emotion, and the force of it had everyone flinching. “But honestly! If this Wilbur was an imposter, </span>
  <em>
    <span>where is the real Wilbur</span>
  </em>
  <span>? That—that thing could have shoved him half-dead in a hole somewhere and we’re all busy talking about motivations!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The campsite fell silent, and everyone shared low looks with each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where would he even be?” Tommy said quietly. He’d pressed himself to Tubbo’s side, staring at the ground dispassionately. “We don’t even know when he went missing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t say that,” Phil replied. “Wilbur wrote to me very regularly before he abruptly stopped around two months ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would have been maybe a week before the Festival,” Niki said. “Around the time Schlatt announced it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the Festival?” Phil asked blankly. Everyone winced, and immediately he knew he’d broken a touchy subject. Quackity suddenly looked very guilty, and Tommy clutched Tubbo a little tighter, if that were even possible. “Oh, I’m so sorry. We don’t have to talk about it right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…” Tubbo whispered. “I don’t want to talk about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil nodded, reaching behind Tommy’s back to pat Tubbo’s shoulder comfortingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyways,” Eret continued, glancing across the group. “Did Wilbur change at all, around that time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone’s eyes turned to Tommy, who, for once in his life, withered under their stares.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh, kind of,” He said. “He started talking about this whole villain thing right after the announcement. I thought it was kind of weird, but like… it made sense, you know? With how he’d been acting since the election, it was only a bit of a stretch.” He groaned, shoving his face in his hands. “God, I sound like an awful brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you aren’t,” Phil said, shaking his head. “That thing was an awfully good actor. I wouldn’t have known unless it had explicitly told me, and I’m his father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where do we even start to look for Wilbur?” Niki asked, threading her hands together. A short silence fell over the table before Tubbo spoke up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pogtopia,” he stated. “That was where he was last seen, right? And that’s where the thing spent most of its time. I mean, it had to have dropped the persona </span>
  <em>
    <span>sometimes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone shared a look before Tommy nodded in agreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know that place like the back of my hand,” he said, and looked over at his father. “Let’s go to Pogtopia, then. If there’s ever going to be a clue, it’d be there.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And once more they see the truth</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Assistance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“What do you want?” Skeppy asked, regarding Techno with a skeptical look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to talk to BadBoyHalo,” he replied in his usual monotone, for once grateful for how easy it was for him to hide the emotion in his voice. His body was a different matter, but clasping his hands around his trident served the purpose of intimidation and hiding the subtle shake of his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy, of course, didn’t look too happy about having the local anarchist show up on the Badlands’ front steps. They’d fought with him during the battle, but Techno wasn’t foolish enough to believe that they were his allies. They’d just wanted the chaos, same as him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno could respect that, and understood their motivations. Their animosity towards L’Manberg was the reason he’d come here in the first place. BadBoyHalo was kind of his only option here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Skeppy asked with narrowed eyes, drawing Techno out of his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a private manner,” he replied gruffly. “I’m not about to go take him into the woods and kill him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy regarded him suspiciously from his spot inside the mansion’s front door. It was early morning now, and he was still in his duckie pajamas, black hair tousled from sleep. His dark eyes, however, were bright and alert, his hands tight on the netherite sword that clashed terribly with his bright yellow clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geppy? What’s going on out there?” BadBoyHalo’s voice floated in from further inside the mansion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy didn’t respond immediately, keeping his eyes locked on Techno. Techno just rolled his eyes obviously enough that motion was obvious through his half-mask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Technoblade!” He finally responded, not taking his gaze off of the newcomer. “He’s asking for you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Why?” BadBoyHalo came into view behind Skeppy. Techno blinked. The leader of the Badlands was dressed in the same duckie onesie as his friend, light brown hair sticking up in odd directions. Despite their almost opposing appearances, their morning looks were almost identical.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s ‘private,’” Skeppy huffed, making an air quotes motion with his free hand. “Don’t worry, I’ma bought to have him shove off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geppy!” BadBoyHalo protested as Techno tightened his grip on his trident. “That’s rude!” He pushed aside his friend, unbothered by Techno’s netherite gear and weapons. “I’m so sorry about that; let me get dressed and we can talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno nodded silently as Skeppy pulled the door closed. He could hear some muffled speaking through the door, too dim to make out any actual words, before it faded away. Letting out a long breath to try and calm his nerves, he stepped back from the door, tapping the hilt of his trident into the ground as he waited. Seconds stretched into minutes, and Techno felt his patience running thin. How long did it take someone to get dressed? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, the door opened again, and Techno turned to see BadBoyHalo, now in his usual black and red outfit, though devoid of armor, coming out the door. He yawned as he pulled out his glasses and put them on, blinking against the sunlight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s up Techno?” He asked. “Sorry about Skeppy; he can get defensive at times and we weren’t expecting you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need your help, BadBoyHalo,” he huffed. “I’m not putting you in danger but if you speak of this to </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> I will bring down the Badlands single-handedly and make sure nothing can rise in its place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” BadBoyHalo shrugged, not at all perturbed by the threat. “You can just call me Bad, by the way. What’s so important?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno paused, glancing around the grounds, but there was nowhere someone with prying ears could hide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur respawn glitched,” he forced out quietly, ignoring how vulnerable the words made him look. “I found him at least a good hundred blocks away from any bed, out between Pogtopia and my base. He hasn’t woken up in the last twelve hours at least. Maybe longer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He </span>
  <em>
    <span>respawn glitched</span>
  </em>
  <span>?!” Bad exclaimed in horror, a hand flying to his mouth. Techno winced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up!” He snapped. “Look, you’re the only one with medical experience I can even consider trusting right now. Will you help me or not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! Yeah, of course,” Bad nodded, looking offended even at the idea of refusing. “No one deserves to be respawn glitched. Oh, the poor thing…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno crossed his arms with a huff of disapproval, and Bad cut himself off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, fine. Let me go get some supplies, I’m sure I have a regen potion around the house, at least.” Bad gave him a thumbs-up. “I’ll have to tell Skeppy I’ll be gone for a bit, too. I’ll be back in just a second!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without waiting for a response, he once again was rushing for the mansion, throwing open the door and running inside. He did seem to be taking this seriously, not even bothering to shut the door, leaving it swinging in the breeze. Techno waited once more, letting the minutes pass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was he making the right choice, bringing a foreigner into this mess? Leaving Wilbur, alone and unguarded, in his base, which about 90% of the server knew about by now? He’d wrestled with the issue through the early hours of the morning, and in the end had finally given in to go and get help because he knew Wilbur wasn’t going to get better without it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t warming up. Techno had stoked the fireplace all through the night until it was swelteringly hot and his clothes were sticky with sweat, but Wilbur’s internal temperature had yet to raise even a single fraction, his skin still icy cold and his breaths shallow. He’d hardly stirred no matter how Techno had tried to wake him, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> had no idea how Wilbur had ended up curled at the base of that tree. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And thus he’d brought himself to BadBoyHalo, leader of the Badlands, and the only healer he could even imagine trusting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of the devil, Bad was returning. Techno saw Skeppy just over his shoulder, saying something to him, and Bad said something back before leaving the mansion. Skeppy stayed in the doorframe, shooting Techno a warning look that would have been intimidating if the netherite armor he was wearing was strapped over his duckie pajamas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Bad announced, a determination in his eyes that surprised Techno. “Where are we going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My base,” Techno huffed. “You remember where it is?” Bad nodded. Together, they left Skeppy’s mansion behind, turning down to walk down the Prime path that ran through the middle of the SMP. Thankfully, it was early enough in the morning that most of the players were still asleep, especially after the events that had occurred yesterday, but that didn’t stop Techno from being on guard for anyone loyal to L’Manburg happening to see him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, they passed through unimpeded, only seeing Ponk off in the distance while passing by his lands. Techno kept one hand on his trident, but the man didn’t seem very interested in them, hardly giving them a cursory glance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t relax until the buildings were falling behind them and they were out into the wilderness, walking along the path Tommy had built to Pogtopia. After that it was smooth sailing, with the sun cresting fully over the horizon and brightening the world around them. Soon enough, they’d left the remnants of Pogtopia behind and stood on the banks of the river, where Techno’s base lay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait here,” Techno said. Bad hummed in agreement, and Techno dove into the water, digging up the particular clump of dirt to open his base to the foreigner. Bad followed him down once he gave the go-ahead, and together they entered into the top level of Techno’s base. As Bad wrung out his clothes in the entrance pool, Techno found the lever to the hidden section, and ignoring the thudding of his heart, pulled it open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s over here.” Once they were down, Techno pulled Bad to the left side of his base. The other man sucked in a gasp at the sight of Wilbur in the corner of the room, covered in blankets as a result of Techno’s best attempts to get him warm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, the poor thing…” Bad said, concern etched across his face as he played with the hem of his robe. “May I look?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno paused, then nodded swiftly. Bad rushed forwards, no longer holding himself back, as he knelt down at the side of Wilbur’s bed. Techno walked forwards a little more slowly as the other man placed the back of his hand on Wilbur’s forehead. A moment later, he yanked it back with a gasp of surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s been like that since I found him,” he answered the unasked question, dropping to one knee besides the two. “I’ve tried everything I can think of to warm him, but nothing’s worked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bad tsk’ed a bit, brow furrowing as he pulled a bag out of his inventory. Opening it, he shuffled through its contents, murmuring something about muffins under his breath when he didn’t find what he was looking for. He pulled out another bag, and this time found his quarry, taking a hold of two white, plastic-looking pouches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are those?” Techno asked as Bad crunched the bags and shook them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heat compresses,” the healer said, half distracted as he pulled back the blankets. If he was surprised by the numerous injuries littering Wilbur’s skin, or the fact that he was wearing Techno’s clothes, he didn’t mention it. “Wet heat, like hot water, can be deadly to a hypothermic patient. MunchyMC made a point to keep these on hand if someone wandered out in the snow biome for a little too long. You did well with the blankets and fire, but hopefully these will help warm Wilbur’s blood where his body and heart can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“MunchyMC?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s a server I used to admin. It’s where I met Skeppy, did you know?” Bad secured one of the heat compresses to the center of Wilbur’s chest, not waiting for an answer. “Anyways, we had a little more advanced mechanics there. I brought some of the stuff over when Skeppy and I moved here. Can you lift up Wilbur’s head?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno did as asked, placing one hand on the back of Wilbur’s head and the other at the nape of his neck. Gently, he lifted him up a few inches, enough for Bad to slip a blanket-covered compress under his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never seen something like this before,” Bad murmured, pushing back Wilbur’s hair to get a better look at his face. “Just a moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno sat back as Bad continued to work. He took Wilbur’s pulse, then took out a stethoscope and did his best to get a measure on his breathing. He pinched at his brother’s skin, muttering to himself, and checked his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you fed him at all?” He asked after a moment, pulling away. Techno shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I gave him some strength potions through the night, but I’d expected him to have woken up by now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s too dangerous to wait any longer. The poor muffin… I’m not sure how but he’s seriously malnourished. Fetch me some lukewarm water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno did as he was told, and Bad carefully sat Wilbur up a bit, easing the liquid down his throat. As he eased his brother down, Techno fiddled with the hilt of his trident, which he hadn’t put back in his inventory just yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well?” He asked as Bad took a closer look at Wilbur’s hands. Techno had bandaged them as best he could and taken out as many splinters as he could, but there’d been many he’d been unable to reach his fingers and nails alone. “What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bad didn’t answer immediately, worrying his lower lip as he turned Wilbur’s palm in his own hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I don’t know,” he finally admitted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean, you don’t know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t a respawn glitch, Techno,” Bad said, finally looking up at him with a worried but certain gaze. “Have you ever even seen someone respawn glitch before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Techno admitted. “But there were a few I heard of in Hypixel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve seen my fair share, and this is nothing like a respawn glitch.” Bad shook his head. “They always result in major wounds, like a missing limb or burns. Never </span>
  <em>
    <span>malnourishment,</span>
  </em>
  <span> of all things. And see these?” He ghosted his fingers over the vertical cuts on Wilbur’s hand and forearm. “These are self-inflicted. If he’d been cut by, say, some falling rocks, they wouldn’t be so neat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you saying Wilbur did this to himself?” Techno asked slowly, a growl growing in the back of his throat. Sure, Wilbur had never afforded himself an ounce of self preservation, but he’d never… well, become </span>
  <em>
    <span>harmful</span>
  </em>
  <span> towards himself. He felt angered just thinking of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Bad exclaimed, shaking his head. “No, if it was self-harm, the cuts would more likely have been horizontal. And see? They're all the same age. This was a one-time thing. No, I think Wilbur didn’t really… have a choice in not hurting himself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you going on about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bad shrugged, looking well and truly lost. “That’s why I said I didn’t know. Wilbur went through </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the five hours he was missing, but for the life of me I can’t figure out what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, there </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> some clues,” Bad admitted. He pointed at the raw skin on his fingers. “At some point he was clawing at wood, I think. Would explain the splinters and skinning. The burns are small, so I think matches were involved at some point. I’m not sure how to explain the dehydration and malnourishment, but disregarding how we saw him well and able yesterday morning, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>looks</span>
  </em>
  <span> like he’s been on a low diet for the past few weeks, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His hair is longer,” Techno pointed out. Bad nodded, fingering a strand of Wilbur’s hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, now that you mention it, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>noticeably longer. How did he grow his hair this much in five hours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno shook his head. “...I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bad worried his lower lip again, gazing down at his new patient. A short pause fell between the two, both watching Wilbur as he took shallow breaths, nearly swallowed by the blankets that swaddled him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This will be a long journey.” Bad finally said, letting out a long breath. “I can stay and treat his wounds and symptoms, but in the end actually waking up will be Wilbur’s choice, I think. He’s going to have to work to fight this affliction off.” He turned and looked up at Techno. “Has he shown any signs of awareness?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing conscious, but…” Techno knelt down so he was at Bad’s level. “Here, let me show you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bad shuffled to the side, giving Techno better access to his brother. Techno reached out, placing his hand on top of Wilbur’s so that four of his fingers lay face-up on Wilbur’s palm. He waited for a moment, watching as Bad gazed at the point where they connected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few seconds, Wilbur’s hand started to curl. Slowly, it moved upwards until he was holding Techno’s fingers in a loose grip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think he realizes what he’s doing,” Techno said, removing his hand. Wilbur’s went limp once more. “Sometimes he’ll become more animated and move a little bit, but he’s never come close to actually waking up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s… interesting,” Bad mumbled. “May I try?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno nodded, and Bad moved forwards once more, mimicking the position from a few moments earlier, four fingers face-up on Wilbur’s palm. Together, they waited in silence for a few minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Techno blinked a few times as Bad drew back, blowing on his knuckles to warm them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a peculiar case…” Bad said, gaze far away as he thought. “Reacts to your touch, but not to mine. Can he tell the difference?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not unconsciously.” An odd feeling was rising in Techno’s chest, unidentifiable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bad clucked his tongue, then stood up. Techno followed suit, stretching out his legs as he did so. He’d been kneeling for too long in the last twelve hours; his knees were starting to protest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll stay as long as I’m needed,” Bad said after a few moments. “I have some salves that’ll help with the wounds, and I can make teas that can help with his nutrient deficiency, but he needs to wake up soon if he doesn’t want to die of starvation and go through </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> particular respawn.” He tsked a bit, starting to pace. “Muffins, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> I should have taken some of Munchy’s IV’s with me; I don’t know how to craft them. Hm… sugar water might be a good idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bad,” Techno said, cutting said healer out of his rantings. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Thank you. For helping and… keeping this on the down low.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me, it’s really no issue,” Bad said with a small smile, before looking down at his patient. “I just hope Wilbur pulls through this, because he has a lot of questions to answer.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Brothers, connected in more ways than one.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. To Taunt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey guys!” Tommy called. Phil looked up from where he’d been checking a map to see that Tommy had run ahead of them. He was at the base of a hill now, pointing at the dirt-covered side. “Over here! This is where the entrance is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Phil asked as Tubbo hurried forwards. Tommy just nodded, and together he and Tubbo brushed aside the dirt, revealing a carefully covered door. “Oh. It really is a cave, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy pulled the door open, waving them inside. Phil took one last overlook of their surroundings, an oak forest, illuminated by the mid-morning sun, and followed in after his youngest son. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were in a small room, carved out of stone. It was just big enough for a small bed on one side and a chest and crafting table on the other. Tommy didn’t stop, however, and moved to the back of the cavern, where he began descending a staircase Phil didn’t initially see, tucked into the corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a tight fit for Phil, who had always been more broad shouldered, causing him to tilt himself a bit as they went down, circling over and over. Behind him, the rest of their party followed: Niki made the trip much easier than Eret, who had to hunch a bit at certain points to avoid knocking his head. Phil thought of Wilbur, even taller than him, coming down this same passageway so many times before. How long was he able to walk these steps, before the imposter had taken his place?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too long. Any time was too long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The small staircase abruptly expanded into a ravine. It was dimly lit, and a dry chill seemed to permeate the air, causing Phil to shiver a bit and pull his cloak tighter around him. Before him, Tommy and Tubbo seemed most unperturbed by the cold, though he could hear a sharp breath from Niki as she shivered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome to Pogtopia, Phil,” Tommy announced without much gusto, waving his arms around the cavern. “Headquarters of the rebellion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was kind of sad. The walls were poorly maintained, cobblestone and even some spare stone bricks shoved into holes. Lanterns swung from cobblestone walls, suspended over the ground, and there was a fire pit down at the bottom, with some chests and furnaces scattered about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Care to give me a tour?” Phil replied, trying to make himself sound light and not betray the twisting of his heart. He’d never really given much thought to the conditions his sons had been living in, and they had never mentioned them in their letters. Of course they hadn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed. What kind of father was he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s not much,” Tommy continued as the group continued to the bottom of the stairs, levelling out at the bottom of the ravine. “My and Techno’s rooms are over there--” he pointed down a ways, and if Phil squinted he could see a pair of oak doors near the back. “And Wilbur’s across from us.” He followed Tommy’s finger to see a third door. “There’s a potato farm that Techno made, and the pit--” Niki and Tubbo shared a look, but Phil pointedly decided not to mention it. “But besides that, not too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where should we start?” Niki asked once he was done. “What should we even look for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur always kept a journal back when he lived with me,” Phil suggested. “Maybe he kept one here, too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did like to write in a leather notebook,” Tubbo agreed. “But he usually kept it in his enderchest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gentlemen and woman,” Eret cut in. “Why don’t we split up and look for signs? Maybe Wilbur left a message somewhere, or the imposter has some clues stored away?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a good idea,” Phil agreed, glancing at Tommy. “Do you mind if I take Wilbur’s room? Anything left behind is likely to be there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be my guest,” he youngest replied, dismissively in the way that signified he wasn’t very interested in going in there himself. “I’ll check my and Techno’s rooms and that end of the ravine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go with you!” Tubbo exclaimed, nudging Tommy’s arm with his shoulder. The action got a slight smile from Tommy, which was a win in Phil’s books.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll check the other end,” Niki offered. “I need to check up on Mushroom anyway. He’s my fox; I had to leave him behind here for the battle yesterday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you mind having an extra set of hands in Wilbur’s room?” Eret asked, glancing over at Phil. It was hard to tell exactly what he was thinking with those sunglasses of his, but he looked earnest enough that Phil nodded an assent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, the group split off, Niki going the opposite direction while Tommy and Tubbo went on ahead. Phil walked more slowly, taking in his surroundings and trying to battle with the guilt rising in his gut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tried to offer them asylum, right after they were exiled,” Eret said softly, jerking Phil out of his thoughts. The younger man seemed to have picked up on his thoughts a bit, tilting his head towards them as they walked. “Wilbur’s morals and Tommy’s pride had them declining it.” Phil didn’t answer him immediately, and after a few seconds they continued on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s room was kind of sad. Phil remembered the days when his middle child had prided himself on his room. He’d never been the best at keeping it clean, exactly, but it had always been personalized to give off something distinctly </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As he opened the bedroom’s door, the oak wood creaking on iron hinges, he could see that this hadn’t been the case for Wilbur’s imposter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were some hints, here and there, in the positioning of the bed and dresser, but items were strewn about the floor almost haphazardly, opposite the organized chaos that Wilbur usually sported. Phil shook his unease at the sight away, separating from Eret without a word. He skirted the room, heading to the dresser, while the former king began picking up the stray items off the floor and moving them out of the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to remember if Wilbur had ever hidden something from him as a child, and came up with nothing. Wilbur had been an avid journaller, but Phil had never gone looking for the notebooks he’d kept out of respect for his privacy. Now, he was almost regretting that, because as he moved shirts out of the way (many dirty and haphazardly put in, several torn), he came up with nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you regret it?” He found himself asking as he moved to the lower drawers. Behind him, he could hear Eret still in his movements. “Betraying L’Manburg, in the first war.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Did Tommy tell you about that?” he gets in reply. Eret’s voice is slow, guarded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur did, actually,” he answered, instinctively folding a pair of pants back and putting them in a proper place. “He wrote to me a lot, especially during the first war.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” There’s a long silence, and then: “I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil raises an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I suppose that I regret how my betrayal didn’t work how I’d hoped it would,” Eret continued, and Phil turned around to see him staring intently down at a small, torn L’Manburg flag. It looked like it might have been a patch. “I knew--well, at the time I thought, but now I know--that the fighting wouldn’t end even if L’Manburg won the war. I hoped by killing them once, they wouldn’t end up killing each other.” He huffed a breath of laughter, tossing the flag patch into a pile of discarded items. “It didn’t work out how I hoped it would, and Dream betrayed us all in the end anyways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You still sided with Pogtopia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I really had no other choice. Where am I supposed to go? Back to the kingdom that took my crown away?” Now, Eret’s voice is bitter. Phil isn’t surprised. He misses ruling the Antarctic Empire every one in awhile, despite how chained down he’d felt when on the throne with Techno, loathe to how it took his attention away from Tommy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had been almost five years ago, now, back when Tommy was just hitting his first growth spurt, when Techno was settling into his power as “The Blood God,” and when Wilbur had left for the first time, going off to pursue his music. It was odd, how different they’d all been back then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil shook himself out of his dwellings, focusing back in on the conversation and moment at hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t believe in good or evil,” he finally said. “If you want to be here, Eret, I won’t stop you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Thanks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil hums in response, turning his attention back to his work, moving away from the dresser and tapping at the wall to see if he could, perhaps, find something hollow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eret was certainly different than he’d expected him to be, more the calming presence Wilbur had described him to be prior to the betrayal than the cold, unfeeling king from after. Perhaps his time in L’Manburg had been less of an act than his sons had thought. Phil didn’t know the whole story on either side, so he held off judgement for those who would be best able to give it. As it was, Eret had done a good job in the past day or so, and had nothing to gain from betraying a nation that had already lost the war. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few more minutes passed before Eret spoke again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’ve found something,” he announced, catching Phil’s attention instantly. He hurried to the other side of the room as the former king knelt down at the section of floor at the foot of Wilbur’s bed. There were some cracks on the floor, nothing to notice unless you had been really looking for something, but Eret had wedged long fingernails in the indents, and with a grunt, lifted up a section of the floor, putting it aside and reaching inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d been right. A small, leatherbound book the size of Phil’s hand came into view, dust sprinkled over the cover, which Eret blew away with a large breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This looks like it could be something,” he said, handing the book to Phil, who took it gingerly, turning it over in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like it,” he replied, sitting on the bed, opening the book, and starting to read.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was forced to leave my journal at home, so this little thing will have to do for now. Tommy and I have found a ravine we’ve been lighting up to make as a temporary base. Techno says he’s one his way; should be here tomorrow or the day after.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Phil will probably be worried I’m not writing. I should write to him soon.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was the first page, the ink smudged in some places and the paper wrinkled in others, but the short message was legible enough. It provided little to no context, just the ramblings of a man who had just lost his home, but it was unmistakably Wilbur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil turned the page.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I still can’t believe Schlatt is back. His presence makes me nervous. I stayed up a good part of the night thinking about back when we’d worked together. I wonder if he still cares about that time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wonder if it’s on his trail. I don’t know, but then again I never really knew if it lost mine. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I feel like I’m being watched. </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>:)</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But I shouldn’t worry too much about it, I think. Techno arrived today, and he says he’s going to be teaching me and Tommy how to fight. Considering how that went when we were children, I’m not sure how to feel about that. But I’m sure I have a little time, since he spent the entire night setting up a potato farm. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It? Schlatt? Phil frowned, reading the message over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did Wilbur know Schlatt, before the election?” he asked. Eret, who’d been looking off into space as he read, turned his gaze towards him and shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They did seem familiar with each other, but to my knowledge Wilbur’s never mentioned anything. You’re better off asking Tommy or Tubbo about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil nodded, thumb hovering over the smiley face that came after the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>watched</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It felt out of place. A bit newer than the words around it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He mentions feeling like he’s being watched,” he says slowly. “An </span>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s certainly new. A lead, maybe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe…” Phil said, eyeing the smiley face. He tucked it away to think about later and turned to the next entry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally sent that letter off to Phil. Hopefully he gets it alright. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tubbo’s come by, says he wants to be our spy. I’m not sure about it. Should I really put another child in such direct danger? Maybe Niki could work…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next entries were all of a similar nature, nothing too out of the ordinary. Phil skimmed them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m scared.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I think it’s here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is it worth warning Tommy about it? </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>:)</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The entry, shorter than the rest, made Phil’s blood churn. Once again, that smiley face, so out of place, stared up at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned the page again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Does Schlatt know? </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>:)</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Would he help me? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil gritted his teeth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m going to find Schlatt. I have to risk it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turned the page, only to find it blank. He turned it again, and again. The rest of the book was empty, not even halfway filled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s all there is,” he sighed, snapping it closed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a lot to read?” Eret asked, and Phil nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Most of them were short notes, but I think I have some idea of what was happening before the switch. I think Wilbur knew more than he let on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before they could say anything else, a high-pitched scream rang out from in the main ravine. Eret and Phil shared a glance before they were rushing out the door, Phil tucking the journal into his inventory as he went. They nearly crashed into Tommy, coming out the other side from his own room.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Niki</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Phil’s heart leapt into his chest and he sprinted down the ravine, rocks spraying as he went. The woman in question looked unharmed, thankfully enough, and was holding a fox in her arms. She was scared, though, staring up into the rafters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil looked up, before freezing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were several branches of cobblestone wall in the ceiling, most of them holding lanterns to light the cave. Leisurely laying on one of those walls was Wilbur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or the thing that had pretended to be him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d changed clothes in the past day. Gone were the dark brown overcoat and black slacks, hair no longer covered by Wilbur’s signature beanie. Now he had black coat, the hood lined in fur, a black and white scarf, and a pair of jeans. Wilbur’s posture was gone, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile was the same, though. Phil gritted his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell?!” Tommy exclaimed, in his own way of besetting his own fear. Not-Wilbur waved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello!” He said, much too cheerful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil set a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, silently asking him to be quiet as he stepped forwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m surprised you’re still here, creature,” he said, hoping his voice sounded a lot more confident than he felt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to see how you all were doing,” came its reply. “It’s a pleasure to know that you’re all alright. I’ll be honest, I rather grew fond of most of you while I was here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit!” Tommy exclaimed, voice vibrating in anger. The thing blinked a few times. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite the contrary, actually. It’s a shame Wilbur had to be the one. I rather liked him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is he?” Niki asked, trembling. “Where is Wilbur?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing glanced over at Phil. “I thought Phil would have relayed the information to you by now. He’s permadead. Not coming back.” Phil couldn’t deny how those words felt like a knife to the heart, nor could he deny everyone else’s reactions to the confirmation. “It really is too bad. I liked Wilbur. Nice kid, had a good head on his shoulders.” It certainly didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>sound</span>
  </em>
  <span> regretful, the words slipping off the thing’s tongue like butter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you still have Wilbur’s body?” Eret asked, low and calm. Phil blinked, realizing that he was right. Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> the thing still in Wilbur’s body? The gig was long up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing shrugged. “I like it, I won’t lie. It’s also been my longest lasting form. It would feel wrong to give it up for something else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate you,” Tommy said through gritted teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing shrugged again. “And I don’t blame you. If I was in your situation, I’d probably feel the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It stood up, looking the group over with a lazy smirk. “But I’m not you, and I’ve gotten what I wanted. I suggest going back to that crater of yours. I’m sure Wilbur would want you to rebuild it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, it took something out of its pocket, smashing it on the cobblestone rafter. Glass rained down on Niki as it disappeared into the particles of an invisibility potion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy swore loudly and fluently, whipping his sword out and hurrying up the stairs, Tubbo on his heels. Distantly, he could hear the front door slamming open and shouting from up above as Niki brushed the debris from her shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Eret asked, stepping up to Phil’s right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was he alright? Emotions were rising in his chest, overwhelming. He’d always prided himself on being the voice of reason in his family, the protector, the one comforting scraped knees and bruised egos. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had just lost a child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” And his voice sounded so choked that Phil finally began to realize what had just happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was dead. Permadead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he cried. “No, I’m not.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a fine afternoon on Tuesday, November 17. The sky was clear, and a breeze, only slightly chilly, ran though the pine branches of the trees that surrounded the Dream SMP’s spawn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then it wasn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A man appeared out of nowhere, falling a short distance before hitting the ground with a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>oomf</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He laid there for a moment, eyes tracking the waving pine branches above him, before slowly sitting up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked down at his hands, and then pulled up his suit jacket to reveal an elegant wristwatch. He squinted at the small symbols engraved inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JSchlatt read the date. November 17th, a Tuesday.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“SHIT!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A parent's worst fear is to outlive their child.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Cresting the Wave</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“It’s time for us to leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad looked up from where he was standing by the kitchenette, surprised as Techno entered the room. Techno ignored him, instead moving to Wilbur’s side and checking his temperature. As he expected, there was no change in position, but his breathing did seem to be getting deeper without the aid of strength or regen potions. A good sign he supposed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” Bad asked, taking a teapot off of the furnace. “I wouldn’t really suggest it just yet, Techno. Winter’s well on its way and honestly I don’t know how well Wilbur can handle travelling.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t have a choice.” He huffed, opening one of his chests and taking out a compass, waiting for the needle to calibrate and stabilize towards the north. “L’Manberg went to Pogtopia today, and from what I could tell they didn’t exactly look very friendly. If they come here I don’t know if I can hold them off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know where you want to go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a place. I knew this base would be compromised after the battle anyways.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alrighty, then.” Bad poured some of the tea into a specialized cup he’d been using to feed Wilbur. “I suggest you get ready, then. I’ll text Skeppy and gather my things to go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not coming with me. Thank you for your help, but I can take it from here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad scoffed, brushing past him to get to Wilbur. “Sorry, but I don’t really trust you, there. Wilbur needs specific help right now that only a trained healer can provide. I can do that. It’s not like I would gain much from going against you, anyways.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno frowned. As much as he hated to admit it, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been very worried about going off on his own. But it was one thing to take Bad to the base everyone had already seen. It was another to take him to his only backup.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” he reluctantly gave in, ignoring how it burned at his pride. “But I’m in charge.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When were you not?” Bad replied, waving him away. “Go get ready. I’ve got Wilbur.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno hesitated for a moment, but the other man was right. Tommy and his crew </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been to Pogtopia, and he’d have to have been deaf to not hear Tommy screaming obscenities into the forest, demanding for his adversaries to show themselves. Yeah, he wasn’t going to risk staying here any longer. Pogtopia was already much too close for comfort; he wasn’t letting them get any closer, not with Wilbur in such a precarious position.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sending one last glance over at Wilbur (still asleep), he walked away once more. Pausing in the storage system to grab some wood and a crafting table  before heading outside via the newly-made land entrance. Blinking against the sunlight as he emerged behind a large bush, he made his way over to the small cove where he’d leashed Carl. He took some measurements of his steed, before sitting down and getting to work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time the sun was at its zenith, he had a decent cart going, with iron axles and a wooden side. A trip back down to the base and he lined half of the cart with chests, the other half with spare blankets and clothes in a space just big enough to fit Wilbur (he hoped, his brother was annoyingly tall). The chests were then filled with his most important items, gold, food, potions and a few spare emeralds that hadn’t been stolen from him. Clothes and fabric went in next at Bad’s insistence, then medicine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Soon enough the base was thoroughly looted, Bad waiting by Carl as, once more, Techno picked up Wilbur, cocooning him as he carried him to the cove. Everything suddenly seemed so much more dangerous with their precious cargo out in the open, and every sound had Techno’s ears twitching as he and Bad tucked Wilbur into his space (turns out, Wilbur </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a few inches too tall to fit perfectly. Figured.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then they were off, Bad sitting up at the front of the cart, once more taking up his diligent watch over Wilbur as Techno mounted Carl, following the compass’ direction. They were going much slower than he would have liked, with a few hundred extra pounds, but Carl was nothing if not strong, and they made good time considering the constraints. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By evening, though, Carl’s stamina was fading fast, the horse panting as the sky began to paint itself in various shades of red, blue, and pink. Techno found a cave easily enough, and unhitched Carl, allowing the horse to rest and graze on the grass outside while he made a rough covering of the cavern’s mouth and Bad made potato soup for dinner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was pretty good, he had to admit, sitting down by the fire with the bowl at his lips. As evening set in and the groans of mobs began outside, the two of them sat quietly, sharing a dinner together. It was an odd experience, Techno had to admit. The only person he could ever have imagined doing this with three days ago was Phil, and yet here he was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you so determined to come with me?” He finally asked, when the food was almost gone. “You don’t even know where we’re going.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad didn’t say anything immediately, setting down his food before looking at him from across the fire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I couldn’t just leave Wilbur behind,” he finally said. “It was part of the healer’s code, back in MunchMC. ‘Never leave a patient behind.’ I guess I’m still adhering to that. Besides,” he glazed over to where they’d laid Wilbur by the cave’s wall, close enough to the fire to attempt to warm him while not risking a fire. “I won’t lie; I’m really curious about his situation. I’ve never seen or heard anything like it. I want to be a part of it.” Techno nodded silently. He could understand the urge to be a part of something special. “What about you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blinked. “What?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you so attached to Wilbur?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...He’s my younger brother.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now it was Bad’s turn to blink, mouth opening in surprise. “Really? But…” he glanced between them. “Well, he’s never mentioned family besides Tommy.” Now he looked a little sheepish. “But then again, I didn’t know him that well, did I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you didn’t,” Techno agreed, looking down and tracing circles in the dirt. “I’m the oldest, then Wilbur, and finally Tommy. We’re all adopted. Phil’s our father.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Phil? The green guy from the battle?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno shrugged as Bad bit his lower lip. Everyone had seen Phil kill Wilbur, but he realized with a slight jerk of surprise that yeah, people outside of Wilbur’s admittedly small circle wouldn’t know their relation. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>something to really consider, wasn’t it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Who killed their own son?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They fell into an only slightly uncomfortable silence after that. Techno finished his food and cleaned his utensils with some of their stored water. Bad “fed” Wilbur as best he could, taking his vitals and in general monitoring his health. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Bad tucked himself a few feet away from Wilbur, a small blanket curled around his shoulders, Techno kept up watch by the firelight. Time passed without mention as he watched the flickering flames, deep in thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad did have the right idea, wanting to stay and figure this situation out. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> wrong with Wilbur? If not a respawn glitch, what could it be? Even Bad admitted to being entirely clueless, and he was a professionally trained healer and former server admin. If anyone would know, it’d have been him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Bad didn’t know, and his lack of knowledge took away nearly every theory Techno did have. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t like this, not one bit. He’d never been one to sit back and accept the feeling of being helpless against the will of the gods, but this wasn’t a battle he could fight with a sword and shield. Wilbur needed help, he was entirely incapable of giving it, and he hated nothing more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A shuffling of fabric jerked Techno out of his half-asleep (dimly, he realized that he’d never gotten the full month of rest he’d promised himself after the battle against Manburg) thoughts. He blinked a few times, bringing the flickering flames of the fire into focus. Had Bad woken up? What could have made that noise?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned to his left. Bad hadn’t moved, still snoring softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked a little closer, to Wilbur’s bundle of blankets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the future, Techno would vehemently deny the full ten seconds it took for him to realize that Wilbur’s eyes were open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brown irises blinked open for the world to see, tracing over the jagged rocky roof above them, flickering around a bit. Wilbur moved a little bit, his breathing picking up harshly. He seemed to be panicking, trying to get out of the blankets but too weak to do anything but move them a few inches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wilbur!” Techno exclaimed, ignoring the yelp as Bad awoke from his volume, hurrying over so that he was at his brother’s side. Wilbur sluggishly looked over at him, mouth dropping in shock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” his brother whispered, ceasing his movements. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Wil,” Techno replied, putting his hand on Wilbur’s neck to try and get his pulse. “Glad to have you with us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur himself didn’t reply, leaning into the touch as he let out a long breath that was almost a whine, eyes closing. Just as Techno got a good read on his pulse, stronger than it had been at dinner, it was already fading back down to it’s old pace, Wilbur’s breathing once more elongating as he slipped back into unconsciousness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And like that, it was over. Techno’s throat felt tight as he kept his hand lightly against Wilbur’s neck, before reaching up and brushing his curls out of his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He woke up,” he said aloud, well aware of Bad’s presence now just behind him. “He just woke up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s good,” Bad replied, sounding tremendously relieved. “Finally, some good news for him. Here, let me take his vitals again.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Reluctantly, Techno shuffled back, allowing his ally to take his place. He watched silently as Bad took Wilbur’s pulse and blood pressure, then took some equipment out of his inventory and measured his breathing and temperature. The seconds seemed to crawl by as Bad worked, pulling out a little notebook to write down his findings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“His blood pressure is higher than it was at dinner,” He finally announced, snapping his notebook shut. “And he’s warmer by around a degree and a half. Pulse is a little thready, still, but it should strengthen when his heart rate goes down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay…” Techno sighed, running a hand down his face. “Do you think he’ll wake up again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad took a minute or so to respond. “It’s much more likely than it was ten minutes ago,” he finally replied. “It’s a good sign, don’t get me wrong, but Wilbur isn’t out of the woods yet. The next time he wakes up, get me </span>
  <em>
    <span>immediately</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The seriousness of his words caught Techno off-guard, and it must have shown, because Bad continued: “I’ve been feeding him as best I can, but without IVs Wilbur’s coma can’t be sustained indefinitely.  He needs food, and the kind you can only eat when awake. The next time he’s conscious like that, we are going to feed him. If he’s still awake after that, </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> we can ask our questions.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do have a point,” Techno conceded, frowning. He was right; Wilbur did need to eat. Already thin by normal standards, Bad had started getting worried about prolonged muscle atrophy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bad smiled then, patting his hand. “It’ll be okay,” he said reassuringly. “With a little bit of luck and strength, I think he’ll be alright. Might just take a while.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno nodded silently, once more reaching forwards. In his movements, one of Wilbur’s hands had slipped out from under the covers, and he took it, the hand ice in his own. As Wilbur’s fingers curled around him, chasing the warmth, he wondered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How long would this take? And how long would he have to wait until he knew the truth?</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the shorter chapter. Hopefully the content makes up for it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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